On Saturday, I took my niece and nephew to see
Winged Migration -- a timeless story of a bunch of birds doing bird-things.
Task one: pick them up. I'm first greeted by the 3-year-old, whose first words to me are: "
Uncle Brian, do you take big girls into the bathroom?"
I was like -- What? What the?... I mean, that was YEARS ago, and it was a coat-check room, not a bathroom. What kind of lies has my brother been telling you?
It was only after that I learned that her mom had told her to "go" before we left because "Uncle Brian" wasn't used to taking "little girls" to the bathroom. Hence, the logical extension that I must somehow be used to taking "big girls" to the bathroom. Obvious. A little off the mark, but I admire her sense of deductive reasoning. Touche.
So, anyway, I figured this would be an opportunity to be the good Uncle -- to introduce these children into the miraculous world of film. The darkened theater, the glowing screen filled with wondrous images -- this was MY element -- finally, something to teach. My duty to bring them a knowledge of the world, as could only be seen through film.
Well, that was the thought anyway.
Here's what really happens when you take a 3-year-old and a 6-year-old to the movie: Get tickets. Get popcorn. Try to reason with the 6-year-old that he really DOESN'T want to sit in the front row because it will make him go blind. Find a seat and spend 14 minutes trying to take off jackets and sit down. Spend the first 20 minutes of the film passing the popcorn to my left, then right, then left, then right, then... etc. etc. and I didn't even mention the barrel of Sprite with 3 straws. The intent had been to have one straw per persion, but everyone ended up sucking through all 3 simultaneously anyway. More fun that way.
Each gobbled about 1/3 of the large bag of popcorn. I myself had about 3 handfuls. The rest ended up being spilled down my shirt -- handful by handful, kernel by kernel. At home, later that evening, I unwrapped myself from a well protected suit of packing material.
Then the movie started. We watched birds migrating (a fancy word for just flying around) for about 30 minutes. Then the niece ended up in my lap. She kicked and squirmed until I was slunk down as far as I could go in my seat, with her sprawled out and finally finding a place to nest. Then she conked out. With my one free hand, I managed to pass popcorn to the nephew until he finally curled up in his seat and napped as well. So, 45 minutes into the movie, I had one child sleeping on my chest, and another curled up awkwardly in his seat, with his head tilted back and a gaping maw -- not unlike the feeding baby birds I was watching on the screen. I had my own bird show going on.
Then it was over. I carried the little one out down two flights of stairs, and as soon as we hit the cool outside air -- wait -- yep, there it was. A shocked face, a moment of terror, and then slow, sobbing cries.
And everyone was relieved to get back home.
And it was a wonderful day at the movies.
